


And I want you to know that my feelings are true

by Kacka



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, Fake/Pretend Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-09
Updated: 2018-01-09
Packaged: 2019-03-02 21:52:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,095
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13327098
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kacka/pseuds/Kacka
Summary: Making up a fake girlfriend to get out of a weekend-long work retreat only works up to a point, as Bellamy finds out. Instead of letting him off the hook, his boss invites his girlfriend along. Luckily, Clarke is open to playing the part.





	And I want you to know that my feelings are true

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Chash](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chash/gifts).



> Because Chash worked really hard to do a nice thing for the fandom the past few months and absolutely killed it :)
> 
> Title by Queen

**Two weeks before**

“So you know how I’m a walking disaster?”

Clarke sets her laptop aside and takes her earbuds all the way out and Bellamy tries not to smile. Apparently a conversation starter like that warrants her full attention.

“I’m aware,” she says, slouching so that her feet bump his on the coffee table. “What’d you do this time?”

“My boss--”

“Ugh.” She makes a face. “It’s bad already.”

Bellamy works in the sales department of a company that makes textbooks. It’s not what he thought he’d be doing when he set out to build himself a career in publishing, but those jobs are hard to come by.

This job in particular wouldn’t be so bad if it weren’t for his boss, whom Clarke describes as “a real-life Michael Scott, minus the fun parts.” Dante thinks of himself as a nice guy, but most of his attempts at humor are little more than unapologetic offenses. Which ranges from obnoxious to hurtful for Bellamy, both as someone who has worked hard to overcome his own biases and as a bi person of color who grew up poor.

To make matters worse, Dante lets his son-- Cage, the human equivalent of a steaming garbage heap, and the mid-level manager-- impose his whims on the office, which derails the employees from their existing work (shitty for Bellamy and others who get paid on commission) and often piles on more unnecessary tasks.

Clarke has heard endless ranting about the Wallaces and always offers Bellamy a sympathetic ear. Even if she couldn’t sympathize, she’s always the person he wants to tell about his day. It’s kind of a problem for him, being in love with his best friend and roommate, but if the alternative is not having her in his life, well, he doesn’t even want to imagine that, let alone live it.

“Which one this time?” She asks, lips quirking. It’s a little distracting, but he’s used to it. “Dante or Cage?”

“Dante. He’s making our branch go on a retreat. It’s a long weekend in the woods with my coworkers. And probably no cell service or wifi.”

“So an actual horror movie,” Clarke supplies. “What’s your excuse gonna be?”

“This is the part where I’m a disaster.”

“I love it already.”

“I told him that weekend was my girlfriend’s birthday and I couldn’t go,” Bellamy sighs. “He told me I’d have to use paid time off to get out of it, but that the lodge where we’re staying is ‘very romantic’ and that my girlfriend would be more than welcome to join us.”

Clarke pauses. “I didn’t know you were seeing anyone.”

“I’m not.” He drops his head back against the couch, staring up at the blank white of the ceiling instead of the unreadable expression on Clarke’s face. “I can’t afford to use my vacation days. I’m saving them up to stay with O the week of the wedding. So now I have to come up with some reason as to why the girlfriend I don’t have can’t make it and spend three whole days with an inescapable Cage.”

“What if your girlfriend could make it?” Clarke asks, sounding thoughtful.

Bellamy gives her a withering glare.

“That would be an extreme case of trial by fire a new relationship. What would my pickup line even be? ‘Hey, I know we just met but how would you like to be the plus-one to my worst nightmare? Oh and it’s the definition of the middle of nowhere but I promise I’m not an axe murderer.’”

“I wouldn’t lead with that.” Clarke says, voice desert-dry. “I meant, what if I came along?”

Bellamy’s brain short-circuits. “As my girlfriend?”

“They’d buy it. I mean, we know each other really well, we’re casually affectionate. People assume we’re dating all the time.”

His stomach plummets. Of course she meant-- Of course they’d be pretending. Obviously.

“I can’t ask you to do that.”

“I’m offering.”

“Why?”

She shrugs. “It would be better if I was there, right?”

“Absolutely.” That one’s a no-brainer.

“And you’d owe me one, right?”

“Maybe more than one.”

“Okay, so--” She offers him a half smile, her cheeks pink under his scrutiny. “You RSVP for two, we get our own room, we subsist on alcohol and heavy sarcasm for a few days, and then I get the best friend ever award.”

“Definitely,” he says, still trying to process the whole thing. “You’re serious?”

“One hundred percent.” Clarke grins. “Besides, I’ve had years of practice being overtly polite with insulting subtext. I don’t think Cage knows what’s coming for him.”

“I think you might still be the one who doesn’t know what they’re getting into.”

Her eyes narrow and he kicks himself internally. A certain type of person could interpret that as a challenge, and Clarke is definitely that type.

“What’s to know? We stick together, you pull my chair out a few times, we throw subtle shade together. Boom. Dating.”

“Wow, Dating is easy.”

“You want me there or not, Blake?”

“I definitely want you there,” he says, an automatic response.

“Then I’m there,” she shrugs. “Simple as that.”

  
**Two days before**

The weekend of the retreat hasn’t even arrived yet and already Bellamy feels in over his head. He hadn’t had a clue how much he’d enjoy pretending Clarke was his girlfriend, how strongly he’d wish it were true.

“So on a scale of one to ten, how much is this gonna suck?” Miller asks over lunch.

Cage is out of the office at a lunch with corporate representatives and Dante is asleep at his desk, so Bellamy feels pretty safe saying, “I don’t think our tiny human brains can conceive of a number that high.”

“Yeah,” Miller sighs. “I hope it’s just boring work stuff and not any bonding shit. I hate bonding shit.”

“I’m exactly as bonded with my coworkers as I want to be,” Bellamy agrees.

He and Miller are friendly enough, sometimes even getting drinks together after particularly grueling days. Monty from the IT department and Harper or Jasper from accounting sometimes tag along too. Bellamy likes the handful of them just fine but if he had any interest in getting to know his other colleagues better, he’d put in the time and effort to make it happen.

“I think Monty still has the rules somewhere for that drinking game we came up with at last year’s Christmas party. I told him to bring them, since the only way we’re getting through this is with flasks.”

“That was my girlfriend’s solution too.” Bellamy hardly stumbles over the words. They feel uncomfortably right coming out of his mouth. “I told Dante it was her birthday that weekend and instead of excusing me, he invited her.”

Miller smirks. “She might not be your girlfriend much longer.”

“Trust me, I tried to talk her out of coming. She’s determined to out-asshole Cage.”

“Sounds like a keeper.” Miller cocks his head thoughtfully. “Jasper is seeing someone, isn’t he?”

“Hell if I know. Are we inviting more innocent people into this shitshow?”

"I’m just thinking, if he brings his girlfriend, and you’re bunking with yours, I get a room with Monty.”

Bellamy grins. He’s been watching Miller and Monty circle each other for months. “I’ve been assured it’s a very romantic location. The perfect time to make a move.”

“I can think of a million better times. I’m just trying to make the best of a bad situation.”

“Yeah,” Bellamy sighs. “That sounds about right.”

  
**Day 1**

As it turns out, the location is incredibly romantic. The drive up is beautiful, the fir trees lining the highway beautifully lush, a deep green dusted with powdery snow, the winter air crisper and clearer the higher they get up the winding roads.

The lodge itself sits at the end of a long gravel drive, far enough removed from the main mountain road that it feels private. Secluded.

“The perfect place for Cage to kill us all,” he mutters to Clarke, trying not to let his mind cross over from calling it _private_ to calling it _intimate_. “No one would find the bodies for days. And knowing him, he’d make us sit through the whole hellish retreat first.”

“Oh, come on.” She nudges his arm where it rests on the console. “You have to admit, this is pretty nice. There are way worse places they could’ve booked.”

“Dante is pretty proud of his refined tastes.”

“Well, it’s working in our favor.”

Bellamy reaches for her bag when they clamber out of the car, ready to slip into his role as the boyfriend, and is surprised to find how heavy it is.

“Uh, you know this thing only lasts three days, right? What’s in here? Bricks?”

Clarke’s smile is devious. “Booze.”

He lets out a startled laugh, something he didn’t think he’d do much of this weekend. “I’m so glad you’re here,” he says, wrapping his free arm around her and tugging her in to kiss her hair.

“You might change your mind, depending how much I piss off your boss,” she teases, but she stays tucked close to his side as they head to check in, close enough he doesn’t think she’ll mind when his hand settles comfortably on her lower back.

“We have a little while before the first meeting is supposed to begin,” he says in a low voice, steering them toward the reception desk. “With any luck, we’ll be able to avoid--”

“Bellamy!”

His eyes fall shut briefly at the sound of his boss’s voice, but Clarke’s elbow in his ribs snaps him out of it. He turns with a fake smile pasted to his face.

“Dante. Are you the welcoming committee?”

“Something like that,” he chuckles, smiling toothily at them. “This must be your girlfriend.”

“Clarke,” she supplies, holding her hand out to shake. “Thank you for inviting me.”

“Yes, yes. I know Bellamy is glad you could make it. I promise we won’t tie up all his time this weekend. You two will have plenty of opportunity to enjoy this place together.”

“Well, the place is beautiful. I can’t wait to see the rooms,” she says, smiling up at Bellamy. “Want to go check it out, babe?”

His smile softens, more real now that it’s directed towards her. “Sure thing.” He looks up to find Dante watching them with an overly friendly expression. “See you in a bit.”

“Of course, of course. You two have fun.”

“That wasn’t so bad,” Clarke whispers as they get in the back of the check-in line. Bellamy groans quietly, burying his face into her hair.

“That was creepy for me. Now he feels like he knows my life, Clarke.”

“Your _fake_ life,” she reminds him, bumping him gently so they can shuffle forward. “He totally bought us as a couple. You should be thrilled about pulling one over on him.”

“Yeah, thrilled,” Bellamy grumbles, picking his head up and putting a little space between them. It’s a good reminder that this isn’t real.

They get checked in without running into any of the other people Bellamy is hoping to avoid as much as possible, so things are really looking up. Until the concierge offers to show them to their room.

As it turns out, they’re not upstairs in the main lodge like all the other guests, but in a tiny, one-room cabin all their own out back. Bellamy’s face is in flames as the concierge points out the jacuzzi tub (big enough for two) and the tiny kitchenette area (where he can, apparently, make Clarke breakfast in bed, the concierge points out with a friendly nudge). When they’re finally left alone, it’s all he can do not to throw himself onto the (singular, very large) bed and wonder what he got himself into.

Clarke is unaffected, poking around the room, looking at all the amenities with an interested expression.

“Looking for shit to steal?” He jokes, leaning against the wall instead of sitting on the bed. He’s not going anywhere near that thing.

“Maybe,” she muses. “It is a nice place. I’m really impressed, actually. When they said we’d be in cabin eight it brought back really traumatic summer camp memories.”

Bellamy finally cracks a smile. “What’s so traumatic about summer camp?”

“Bed bugs. Lice. Ticks. Also, I innocently told the other thirteen-year-olds in my cabin about the sexuality crisis I was having, thinking we were good enough friends after two weeks for them to be supportive.” Bellamy winces and she shrugs. “They got weird about changing in the same room as me.”

“Yeah, I probably will be too,” he admits, smiling when she laughs. “But for reasons that have nothing to do with your bisexuality.”

“Thanks for the heads-up.” She goes over to where he set her bag down and hefts it up onto the bed. “Mind if I take the left side?”

“You can have the whole thing as far as I’m concerned.”

Clarke rolls her eyes at him. “Bellamy. This bed is huge and this is _your_ work thing. You’re sleeping in the bed, whether I’m in it or not.”

“The couch is fine. Really. It’s just a few nights.”

“And we’re both adults, so sharing shouldn’t be a problem.” She bites her lip. “Unless it makes you uncomfortable, in which case I’m fine sleeping on the couch.”

He scowls. “I’m not letting you sleep on the couch.”

“Great. So you’re on the right and I’m on the left, unless you have any other objections.”

Bellamy sighs and goes over to sit next to her bag. “Is it time to drink yet?”

She beams and passes him a bottle. “I thought you’d never ask.”

* * *

Bellamy texts Miller directions to their cabin and it’s only a few minutes before he and Monty and Jasper show up, flasks hidden under their coats and looks of dread affixed to their faces.

“They put me in a room with Dax,” Jasper complains as Clarke gives Monty and Miller a tour of the bar she brought with her.

“Not Monty?”

Jasper gives him a pointed look. “I’m taking one for the team.”

“Well, let us know if you need an escape. Or if it looks like he brought a shiv.”

“He always looks like he brought a shiv.”

“Yeah.” Bellamy claps him on the back sympathetically. “I guess that’s true.”

“Your girlfriend is a lifesaver,” Miller calls, drawing their attention away. “Seriously, Blake. I might even like her better than you.”

“Most people do,” he says, coming over to where they’re standing. He feels a little bit worse about lying to his friends about Clarke than he does with Dante, but not enough he wants to explain the whole ridiculous deception. “And she actually is a lifesaver. She’s a doctor.”

“So if any of you need to fake a medical emergency, I can make it really convincing.”

“What’s something all four of us can come down with?” Miller grumbles. Monty bumps his shoulder playfully.

“Besides alcohol poisoning?”

“Let’s try to avoid real medical emergencies if at all possible,” Clarke says, exchanging an amused look with Bellamy. He might’ve gone on at length on the car ride up about how obvious the two of them are with each other. “But a fake flu I think we could pull off if we needed to.”

“Miller was a theater nerd, so he can probably really sell it,” Monty says helpfully, and Miller gives him a grudging smile.

“Plus I'm really motivated.”

“And Bellamy’s just dramatic,” Clarke teases, leaning into him briefly. He wraps a hand around her waist on instinct, rolling his eyes.

“At least you have a plan.”

“I've got your backs.”

By the time the four of them have to leave for the first session, they’re all pleasantly buzzed and only a little bit morose about the prospect of having to sit in a conference room and listen to Dante completely miss the irony of his leading the HR-mandated sensitivity training.

“You sure you don’t desperately need me to stay behind?” He asks Clarke with a crooked smile. She’s settling in on the huge bed with her iPad and a glass of wine and absolutely no indications that she won’t be fine on her own.

“Text me if the drinking game doesn’t make it better and I’ll pull the old emergency-phone-call trick.”

“Yeah,” he sighs. “Here goes.”

She salutes him with mock solemnity. “May we meet again.”

He snorts and shakes his head and follows after Miller, wondering if it’s the alcohol making him want to stay back and find out whether she’d lean closer if he sat reading next to her.

The sensitivity training goes by quicker than Bellamy would have thought. His table passes around a game of hangman and sips subtly from their flasks as Dante monologues, they make sarcastic comments under their breath when they’re supposed to be doing the exercises, and then it’s over and time for a swanky dinner at the hotel restaurant on the company’s dime.

Clarke is already there when they arrive, wearing a soft-looking red sweater and jeans with no holes or paint on them, like she’s trying to make a good impression. She brightens when he gets her attention, slotting into his side like it’s a space carved especially for her.

“No emergencies while you were gone,” she notes. He rolls his eyes, listing slightly to one side as he does.

“I have an emergency. It’s called that was a pointless _waste_ of two hours,” he mumbles, possibly louder than he thinks he did because Clarke shushes him and has to bury her face in his shoulder to stifle her giggles.

He can feel her body shaking against his and presses his smile to her temple. _This is what it would be like_ , he thinks, then pushes that thought away. Pushes himself back slightly.

“Let’s get some food in you,” she says, patting his stomach and trying to arrange her face into one less amused. He can’t even bring himself to be disgruntled that she’s laughing at him too hard to really succeed. He likes her face too much.

“Fucking lightweight,” Miller says fondly as they settle in across from him at the long, family-style table. “DD’ed so long you forgot your tolerance, drunky?”

“Don’t start with me, Nathaniel.”

The dinner is fancy food, which means small, weird portions and a free basket of bread which Bellamy munches on to soak up some of the alcohol in his system. Clarke does what she usually does when he gets drunk, which is to provoke him into a rant about something or other. This time it ends up being about the Final Fantasy franchise, a rant that Monty and the others jump on easily, but in the fun way where everyone is on the same side. Bellamy doesn’t even notice that Dante has drawn Clarke into conversation on her other side until halfway through the meal.

He places a hand on her knee when there’s a lull and she looks up from her food to smile at him.

“You good?” He murmurs. She smiles and squeezes his hand once.

“Yeah, I’m good. I’ll jump back in when you shift topics to Mario Kart or Pokémon Go.”

“As always, your limited experience with video games is a detriment to our-- relationship.”

Nobody seems to be listening to him, so nobody would have noticed him fumble past the word ‘friendship’. Clarke just snorts softly and pats his hand, turning back to talk to his boss about her work at the gallery.

She doesn’t push his hand away, so he just leaves it there on her knee, his thumb stroking circles as he jumps back into the fray, laughing boisterously while Cage shoots them dirty looks from down the table.

At some point she starts playing with his fingers absentmindedly, lacing her fingers between them and tracing over his knuckles as she talks. It feels nice, but maybe too nice, because Bellamy wants this, wants _her_ so badly he can taste it.

When they get up to make their way back to their room, she keeps their hands linked, even when none of his coworkers are around to see, and hope soars in his chest.

But then they’re back in their cabin and she disengages, slipping into the bathroom to swap out her clothes for pajamas, a slap of reality to the face that wanting something doesn’t make it so. Bellamy sighs, pulling his own quick change and brushing his teeth before shuffling under the covers.

“Get it together,” he mutters to himself, scrolling through his Instagram to see if Octavia has posted anything, feeling too awkward to try to fall asleep before Clarke gets back.

It should have occurred to him that pretending Clarke is his girlfriend would hit a little too close to what he really wants, deep down. Or, occurred to him before now, when he has to spend the next eight or so hours sleeping next to her.

 _She’s doing this as a friend_ , he tells himself sternly. _And you’re a dick for even thinking about taking advantage of that._

The talking-to doesn’t do much to make him stop wanting her. It only stirs up more tumult in his mind, an internal war he’s afraid Clarke will see the moment she steps back into the room.

When she does, she’s wearing a sweatshirt and flannel shorts that leave a lot of smooth, pale skin uncovered. He swallows hard and takes his glasses off, setting them on the table on his side next to his phone. As if being unable to see her will somehow scrub the image from his memory.

“I think tonight went pretty well,” she says, climbing under the blanket and shifting a lot as she tries to get comfortable. “Your boss totally likes me. I’m buttering him up so I can get you out of the evening stuff tomorrow.”

“So that’s what you were doing. I knew nobody would want to talk to Dante just for the fun of it.”

“I’m more than just a pretty face, Bellamy.” She lets out a long sigh of contentment. “Sorry if I annoy you during the night. I’ve been told I’m a mouth breather.”

“Yeah, we’ve done enough car trips I already know that about you. I, on the other hand, am the ideal bed-sharing partner, so--”

“Shut up,” she laughs, and Bellamy smiles into the dark. This doesn’t have to be troubling at all. It’s _Clarke_.

It’s going to be absolutely fine.

  
**Day 2**

There was definitely a moment, as Bellamy was falling asleep, when he imagined himself turning over on his side in the night and cuddling up to Clarke. They’d wake up intertwined and even if it never happened again, he could have experienced it just once.

And then he’d pictured making her uncomfortable with his closeness or his hard-on or the implications, had kicked himself mentally and rolled over with his back to her.

What he’d forgotten is that Clarke sleeps at the same level of intensity that she brings to everything else. She tosses and turns, kicks her blankets off and then steals his, spreads her limbs out like a starfish with her body diagonal across the bed. When morning comes at last, she’s got her head on his shoulder, one arm flung across his middle and the other hand somewhere up over their heads, and the blankets on the floor. It’s as if she’s claiming the entire bed as her territory, and Bellamy is little more than an extension of the landscape.

Still, it’s nice. Her breaths are warm on his neck, her body soft where it has melted into his. He could stay like this. Maybe not forever, but for the foreseeable future.

On the bedside table, his phone buzzes with a text. Bellamy shifts Clarke further onto his chest and reaches for it. Her breathing hitches but resumes much quieter, softer for all it’s just as steady, and he finds himself glad that he hasn’t woken her.

 **Miller:** on a scale of 1 to 100 how hungover are you

 **Bellamy:** like 30%, though I haven't tried to move yet

 **Miller:** hair of the dog?

 **Bellamy:** i’m going to attempt to get through the morning without a troubling dependency

 **Miller:** but why

 **Bellamy:** Clarke and i are trying to convince Wallace to give me the afternoon off to spend with her  
Gotta be on my best behavior

 **Miller:** sucks to be you

Bellamy looks down at Clarke who is snuffling against his chest, clearly beginning to wake, and smiles.

 **Bellamy:** not if it works

“How long till you have to get up?” Clarke mumbles.

“Like ten minutes.”

“Boo.”

“Yeah, I’m really banking on your ability to charm Wallace for this afternoon.”

“I won’t let you down.”

“I know you won’t.” He gives himself another minute to enjoy the cuddling, then shifts as if to get up. Clarke moves off of him, flopping onto the empty part of the bed where she’d started the night and reaching for her own phone.

“Sorry for smothering you, by the way,” she says as he ducks into the other room to swap pants and pull a shirt on. “Hope I didn’t wake you up too much during the night.”

“Don’t worry about it. Maybe I’ll just sleep through the morning session and miss it entirely.”

“That’s the spirit.”

Sadly, it isn’t a dream that becomes a reality. Cage is running the show and keeping a closer eye on Bellamy and his friends than Dante had the day before. He splits them up by department and makes them do what he calls 'workshopping'. In Bellamy’s case, that means making fake sales calls for his partner, in this case, Roan, to give him feedback about.

It wouldn’t be a bad idea, except that Roan’s primary sales strategy seems to be knowing people who have a lot of money, and using some combination of his family influence and intimidation to leverage his relationships into more connections. He spends most of his critique time trying to figure out who Bellamy knows, and seeming both befuddled and disappointed when that list contains no one Roan considers noteworthy.

Well, it would have been no one, except that Roan eventually says, “What about your girlfriend?”

Bellamy frowns. “What about her?”

“Clarke Griffin, right? I know her mother.” He pauses. “Well, I don’t _know_ her mother. My mother knows her mother. Tried to set us up a few months ago when she wanted Abby to donate to her reelection campaign.”

“A few months ago?” Cage interjects, looking like he thinks he’s caught Bellamy out. Like he knows Bellamy had made up a girlfriend as a ruse to get out of the working weekend, and has been searching for weak spots in his story in order to prove it. “I thought the two of you were already dating a few months ago. Isn’t that what you said before, Blake?”

“Depends how long ago Roan’s talking,” Bellamy shrugs. “And I didn’t exactly keep track of when she mentioned our relationship to her mother.”

Cage raises his eyes at Roan, who looks like he could not possibly give fewer shits than he is currently giving.

“I don’t know,” he sighs. “Could have been six months ago, even. The wicked witch of the North and I don’t speak unless she decides I’m useful to her for some reason.”

“And anyway, I’m not dating Clarke for her connections. I’d rather rely on my own powers of persuasion.”

“Seems like a lot of work,” Roan shrugs, Cage drifting off with an expression on his face like he smelled sour milk. “But you do you.”

“Excellent feedback. I think we can leave it at that, don’t you?”

“Please.”

They break for lunch after Dante gives a slideshow presentation about interpersonal communication. Clarke drifts into the conference room as Bellamy is standing in line for his sandwich, materializing at his elbow like he might have wished so hard for her to show up she’d just appeared out of thin air.

“What are you doing here?”

“Dante said I could eat free with the company all weekend,” she says, amusement written on her face. “Should I go? Am I embarrassing you in front of your coworkers?”

“It would be hard to make Bellamy look worse than he makes himself look,” Miller says over his shoulder. Bellamy flicks him in the back of his head.

“No, I just wasn’t expecting you. I’m glad you’re here, though. Thought I might not get to see you until tonight.”

As ever, she understands what he’s asking without him having to say it.

“I’m going to go check out the spread,” she says, eye catching on Dante at the front of the line. “I’ll report back.”

“Hurry back,” Monty teases. “Bellamy will miss you.”

“Don’t make me start on your love life, Green.”

“Last names? Really? I thought we were past that.”

Clarke manages to pull Dante aside, catching him in a conversation that lasts long enough for Bellamy to get all the way through the line. He loads up a plate for her, instinctively knowing to skip the mustard on her sandwich, that she prefers barbecue chips to salt and vinegar, to grab her an apple because she hates the texture of bananas.

He catches her eye and gives her a wordless jerk of the head to indicate that he’s finding them seats, which makes her smile in acknowledgment as she speaks. Dante catches the exchange, as does Cage, who is scowling at his father from his seat across the room.

“Well?” Bellamy murmurs when she takes her seat next to him. “What’s the verdict?”

“Half successful,” she says, smiling faintly as she evaluates the food on her plate. “This is perfect, thanks babe.”

His heart jumps at the endearment but he plays it cool. “I know what you’re about.”

“Half successful at what?” Monty asks.

“At getting me out of the afternoon stuff.”

“You’re definitely excused from the evening activities. It is supposedly my birthday, after all.”

“Oh right. Happy birthday.”

“I’m touched that you remembered.”

“It’s not really her birthday this weekend, is it?” Jasper whispers to Miller, who rolls his eyes.

“It’s better than nothing,” Bellamy says. “I mean I’d obviously rather hang out with you, but dinner isn’t a bad deal.”

“Funny you should say that. I sort of got myself invited to the trust exercises this afternoon.”

Bellamy chokes on his sandwich, coughing as Miller whacks him heartily on the back.

“Trust exercises?” He repeats, eyes watering.

“I’m afraid so.”

“And you’re voluntarily going to participate in them?” Monty sounds as if he’s questioning Clarke’s decision-making, which is fair. Bellamy has the same doubts.

Clarke just shrugs. “How bad can it be?”

“Plenty bad,” says Miller at the same time that Monty says, “That’s a surefire way to get jinxed,” and Jasper demands, “Why would you say a thing like that?”

“Sorry, sorry. I take it back. I’m sure it’s going to be a horrific afternoon.”

“Thank you.”

“That’s all we ask.”

Bellamy snorts into his drink and catches Clarke’s eye, his lips tilting upward when she gives him a wry smile.

It probably will be a horrific afternoon, but things are definitely looking up.

* * *

“Red alert, red alert,” Jasper mutters. “We are going _off the path_. This is uncharted territory, people.”

“I told you murder was on the agenda for this weekend,” Bellamy whispers in Clarke’s ear. She shivers and presses closer to his side, and even through both their heavy coats and layers, as he wraps his arm around her it feels a little too nice.

“Don’t worry, I told Raven where we were going before we left. She’ll avenge us for sure. Make sure they find the bodies.”

“Yeah, that makes me feel a lot better.”

“What I don’t get is why we have to be outside for this one. All the other games worked just fine indoors.”

“Just fine?” Bellamy raises an eyebrow. “Miller has a bloody nose. And maybe a concussion.”

“He does not have a concussion.” She rolls her eyes. “I checked him out myself.”

The first game hadn’t been so bad, a sort of trivia game based on things about their coworkers. Things Dante had come up with, so many of them were inaccurate, but overall it was less offensive than his standard and easy to laugh through.

The next game had been more physical.

“We’re taking trust falls to the next level,” he’d announced, rubbing his hands together like a caricature of a movie villain.

“That doesn’t bode well,” Monty said under his breath to the table. Everyone exchanged panicked looks in agreement. Trust falls were bad enough on their own. Stepping it up a notch was not only uncalled for but terrifying to think about.

And terrifying in practice, too, it turned out. _Trust pinball_ , as Dante termed it, involved one person wearing a blindfold and standing in the middle of a circle of people, then falling trustingly one way, only to be caught and pushed in a different direction.

Miller had the misfortune of being selected to go first, and within fifteen seconds half the circle was sprawled on the ground, blood streaming from his nose.

“At least it was Monty he fell on,” Jasper says, a note of pride in his voice. Like he’d somehow orchestrated the whole thing. “Sure, he’s going to have a wicked bruise, but they get to hole up in their room for the next few hours uninterrupted… I’m not saying something is going to happen, but nothing is definitely not going to happen.”

“Whatever that means,” Clarke snorts, and Bellamycan feel her side shake against him as she laughs.

“Yeah, I don’t buy it.” Bellamy shakes his head. “Miller brought his Switch, so I’m pretty sure that’s all that’s happening in that room right now.”

“Want to put some money on it?”

“I’m not betting against my friend. Even if I doubt he’s going to make a move.”

“Okay, fair.” Jasper sighs. “Man, once you two peace out I’m going to have to endure the rest of this thing alone. This sucks.”

“Hey, Cage could still murder us all.”

“True. All is not yet lost.”

At last, the group stutters to a halt, gathering in a loose crowd in what appears to be a random spot in the middle of the woods.

“Here we are.”

“Um.” Jasper raises a hand. “Where are we?”

“Off the beaten path,” Dante says brightly. “Now, this next exercise requires partnering up, so if you would all pair off--”

Bellamy still has his arm around Clarke but Dante tuts at them.

“You two already know and trust each other. The point of this exercise is to build new trust. So--”

“I’ll take Clarke,” Jasper says quickly.

“Wonderful.” Dante beams. “And Bellamy, you can be with me.”

He swallows. “Great.”

Clarke unlatches from his side, giving him an apologetic look before moving to stand next to Jasper.

“Alright,” Dante calls over the chatter. “Now one person in every pair, raise your hand.”

He looks expectantly at Bellamy, who lifts a hand with great reluctance. Jasper raises his hand, as do a few others. Dax is last, finally relenting to Anya’s glare.

“Good. Those of you with your hands raised, close your eyes and keep them closed. Those who still have their eyes open, your object is to lead your partner-- without touching them-- back to the lodge. Now, you all know the way--”

“We literally left the path,” Jasper objects, horror seeping into his tone. “How are they supposed to know the way?”

“Well, it’s what we just now walked, but in reverse,” Dante says dismissively. “There’s a dinner buffet waiting in the conference room, so last ones get last pick. On your marks, get set, go!”

All things considered, Bellamy supposes he could have worse partners. He doesn’t trust Dax-- or Roan, or Anya, or a few of the others-- not to just leave him to freeze in the middle of the woods. Wallace picked this place, so hopefully he does know the way back.

On the other hand, if he was paired with one of his friends he could just wait until Wallace is out of sight and open his eyes. Being Dante’s partner means he has to play along, and make small talk while he does.

So-- pros and cons.

“Now, take about… ten to twenty steps straight forward. There’s a slight uphill you’ll feel.”

“Is it ten or is it twenty?” He asks, struggling for a calm tone. This whole eyes-closed thing is really freaky. “That’s a pretty big range.”

“It depends how big your steps are.”

“Sure,” he sighs. “Just-- tell me when to stop.”

He’s twelve steps in when Dante suddenly calls to him to take a sharp left, which he does stumblingly, coming too close for comfort to tripping over a root Dante couldn’t see under the snow.

“So, how did you and Clarke meet?” Dante asks, as Bellamy rights himself.

“Through a friend,” he says, which is basically true.

Raven had been new in town, and Finn had been the source of most of her casual acquaintanceships. Instead of trying to fall in with his pretentious asshole friends (as she and Clarke call them), she’d made her own friend group out of the guy she rebounded with and the other woman. But it’s not like he wants to explain that to Dante, so he just adds, “Where now?”

“Oh. Turn about thirty eight degrees North and take three big steps.”

Bellamy bites back a frustrated retort and tries to think about which way it seems like the setting sun is coming from, which way that means North must be, and how far is thirty eight degrees.

He inches into a turn until Dante tells him to stop, then takes the steps.

Though he’s been taking conservatively-sized steps, he can hear someone crunching confidently through the brush and snow next to him, and then Clarke’s amused-- “Stop! Stop. Okay, now a little to the left. No, _left_.”

“Did the friend set the two of you up?” Dante asks, apparently not as interested in the game as he is in getting to know Bellamy better.

“Not really. Keep moving forward?”

“No, no. Take a step and a half to the left and then forward.” He pauses as Bellamy does so, then says, “There must be more to your story than that.”

He sighs and keeps walking forward, figuring Wallace wouldn’t actually let him walk off a cliff or anything.

“Uh-- not really. I mean, we were friends for a few years before we started dating, but-- I always knew there was chemistry there. I always liked her.”

“I knew right away with my wife,” Dante agrees. “It took me a while to wear her down, though. Some days I envy my younger self his freedom, you know? I thought I liked a challenge, but thirty years later she’s just the ball and chain.”

Bellamy winces, still walking because he hasn’t been told to stop.”That’s not how it is with Clarke. She’s my best friend, you know? I don’t know what I’d do without her.”

From ahead of them comes a yelp, followed by a sharp intake of breath from Dante, who immediately charges forward in a half-jog. Bellamy opens his eyes and spots Clarke, crouched beside Jasper on the ground with a red face and a hand over her mouth.

“I told him there was a log there,” she’s saying when he gets to them. Up close, he can tell that the color in her face is more from trying to hold back laughter than anything else.

Prodding at his ankle, Jasper lets out another cry when it hurts. Clarke bats his hand away, running her fingers over where it’s already starting to swell and testing to find where it’s sore.

“This is why I never succeeded in sports,” Jasper says, his voice wobbly, like he’s fighting to keep from letting on how much pain he’s in.

“Because so many sports are played with closed eyes.”

He gives a watery laugh. “Exactly.”

“Can you walk on it?” Dante asks, worry in his voice. Behind him, Roan and Harper emerge from between some trees, both with eyes open and curious.

“I don’t know.”

“It’s not broken,” Clarke puts in. “But sprains are pretty painful. Let’s try to put weight on it and see how you do.”

“Whatever you say, Doc.”

Clarke gives him a hand up but as soon as he’s upright he’s moaning in pain and collapsing against the nearest sturdy surface. Which happens to be Roan.

“No,” he whimpers. “I don’t think I can walk on it.”

“That’s that, then,” says Roan. With that, he reaches down and scoops Jasper into his arms, bridal-style, much to Jasper’s alarm.

Clarke bites down hard on her lip and Bellamy tugs her in, hiding his laughter in her hair. Harper is laughing openly, and even Dante looks caught somewhere between amusement and worry. The only one with a straight face is Roan, who begins the trek back to the lodge as if Jasper weighs nothing. Like a hero on the cover of a romance novel, but with more clothes on.

Dante hurries after them, Harper trailing in his wake, and Bellamy lets himself take Clarke’s hand, tugging her toward warmth.

“Aren’t you supposed to have your eyes closed?” She teases, squeezing his hand as she follows.

“I think Dante has enough of a liability nightmare on his hands at this point he doesn’t care anymore.”

“It’s the spirit of the game, Bellamy. We’re building trust here.”

“Yeah, I saw what happened to your last partner. Clearly you can’t be trusted.”

“That was not my fault! He was going too fast and not listening. It’s a bad combination.”

“That’s Jasper all over.”

“I honestly wouldn’t be surprised if he saw that Monty and Miller got a pass and injured himself on purpose.”

Bellamy laughs, loud and sharp. “I guess he won’t be sticking it out by himself anymore, will he?”

“No, looks like he found a way around it.” She steers them slightly more to the left than Bellamy would have and he pauses, pulling them both to a halt.

“Isn’t the lodge more that way?”

“I was heading for the room,” she confesses. “I figure if they’re all having dinner that means you’re off the hook now.”

“Don’t have to tell me twice,” he says, following in the direction she’d set out in.

“What should we do with your newfound freedom?”

“You pick. It’s your birthday.”

“Oh, that’s right.” A cold breeze hits them and she nuzzles down into her scarf. “Honestly, all I want right now is to be warm.”

“Warm sounds good, but once we get inside the room I doubt I’m going to want to leave again.”

“You say that like it’s a bad thing. I’ve got my iPad, and so much wine. We can do Netflix and order pizza or room service or something and not even have to leave the bed.”

Bellamy forces away all thoughts of double entendres and clears his throat.

“Sounds ideal.”

“It does sound pretty great.”

He keeps her hand all the way to the cabin, knowing that this is the most plausible deniability he’ll ever have to do so, even with no one around to see.

Bellamy gets a fire going on the gas logs in the grate as Clarke exchanges her many layers for the sweatshirt she’d worn to sleep in and thick, fuzzy socks, plus a pair of sweatpants that look familiar to him. Very familiar.

“Are those mine?”

“I’ve been telling you to get your laundry out of the dryer faster,” she sniffs, climbing under the covers and pulling the extra blanket over her legs.

Bellamy rolls his eyes and tugs his sweater over his head, tossing it over a chair in the corner near the fire so it can warm and dry. He can feel Clarke’s eyes on him and tries not to peacock _too_ much, but-- if he’s learned anything this weekend, it’s that dating Clarke would be as great as he’d always imagined. If he could convince her of the same thing, it would be worth using every weapon in his arsenal. Abs and chest included.

Disappointingly, when he turns back to her she isn’t staring at him with a lust-filled gaze, but is scrolling on her phone.

“Come look at this,” she says without glancing up.

He puts a shirt on and climbs under next to her, sliding close so he can see.

“What am I looking at?”

“Room service menu. I looked into it and I don’t think outside food delivers here.”

“The pasta Miller got last night looked really good.”

“I could really go for a burger.”

“Cool. You want me to make the call or you?”

“You’re so much better on the phone than I am.”

He snorts and grabs the landline from its cradle, dialing zero for the front desk. “Lazy.”

“Hey, don’t judge me. It’s my birthday.”

“How could I forget?”

Clarke gets Netflix pulled up while he’s on the phone, acknowledging his request for wine glasses with an appreciative nudge. When he hangs up, she plops the iPad in his lap, and maybe it’s muscle memory from having done this all weekend, or maybe it’s the cold, but she curls into his side without hesitation. He wedges his freezing toes between her socked feet and grins when she makes a noise of distress but doesn’t move her feet away.

She’s the one who hops up to get the food when it comes, pouring them each a glass of wine while she’s at it. They spread out the picnic between them on the bed, the snow-veiled world quiet outside the window, the crackling fire casting a cozy atmosphere around them.

He can’t help but watch Clarke as she takes a bite of her burger, running her tongue over her upper lip to get at the ketchup that got caught there. She sees him watching and smiles, embarrassed.

“Good?” She asks, nodding to his pasta.

“Yeah.” Bellamy nods, smiles back, his heart feeling too big for his chest. “Perfect.”

  
**Day 3**

This time Bellamy wakes with Clarke’s nose against his collarbone, her hand _under_ his shirt, and the certainty that he wants to wake like his every day.

He lies there as long as he can without moving, then reaches for his phone once he gets too bored to keep it up.

 **Bellamy:** How’s the nose?

 **Miller:** Not broken, don’t worry  
I’m still pretty

 **Bellamy:** As pretty as you ever were, yeah.  
I’m sure Monty is relieved

 **Miller:** I got laid last night, so I think it’s looking okay

 **Bellamy:** Dude!

 **Miller:** I know  
I think we’re going to get the free breakfast and then head out if you want to join

 **Bellamy:** You’re skipping out on the morning session?

 **Miller:** Oh right, you probably haven’t heard yet  
Dante canceled the rest of the activities. Too many casualties yesterday I think.

 **Bellamy:** Sweet  
Yeah we’ll probably do the same then  
She probably wants to get away from this place as fast as possible

 **Miller:** But she made it through the whole weekend  
Don’t fuck it up with this one Blake

 **Bellamy:** Trust me, I know

“Get that light out of my face,” Clarke mumbles, pushing his phone away from her. Bellamy laughs and kisses her hair in apology, his defenses lower first thing in the morning.

“Sorry. I was just texting Miller. He and Monty hooked up last night.”

“About time.”

“You met them like two days ago.”

“Am I wrong?”

“Not at all.” He twists a curl around his finger, combing through the silken strands absently. “Apparently Dante nixed everything else on the agenda, so I say we grab breakfast and get the hell out of here.”

“Okay,” she sighs, letting her eyes close again. Her hand curls around his side, just under his ribs. “Five more minutes, though. ‘Kay?”

Bellamy smiles at the ceiling.

“I’m in no hurry.”

Five minutes turns into ten minutes, but Bellamy isn’t complaining. He also refuses to be the first to move, remaining still but for his fingers in her hair and waiting for Clarke to be the one to break the spell of calm that has settled over them. And maybe she’s playing the same stubborn game, because it’s with a reluctant huff that she finally pushes herself off of him, stretching and padding toward the bathroom without a backward glance.

He has to say something today, he decides as they dress and pack with a comfortable silence between them. Going back to their apartment, each to their own rooms sounds miserable. If there’s any chance at all, he has to take it, now that he knows what he would be missing.

“Ready?”

She tugs his cap farther down over his curls and grins. “Ready.”

Jasper is the first to spot them, seated at a table with his leg elevated on the booth beside him. He waves them down.

“We saved you seats!”

“Cool, thanks. Where’s Monty? Or Miller?”

“Getting food. Since I can’t walk, I’m watching everyone’s stuff.”

“Convenient,” Clarke teases, dropping her bag in an empty seat and patting Bellamy’s back as she passes. “I need some coffee. See you over there?”

“Yeah, sure.”

He feels Jasper watching him as he unburdens himself of his bag and the many layers of outerwear he has on.

“It’s nice,” Jasper says, sudden. “That you guys aren’t the PDA type. But everyone can still tell, you know? You’re good together”

“Thanks.” He runs an awkward hand through his hair. “I’m gonna go get some food.”

“I’ll be here.”

It’s a squeeze to get all five of them around the table, but that just means Bellamy gets to have Clarke huddled close to him, where he can bicker quietly with her about stealing all the strawberry jelly packets and she steals his water to sip from when the coffee burns her tongue.

Dante wanders over as they’re finishing up, looking as if he’s aged ten years in the past two days.

“I hope you’ve all gotten a lot out of this weekend. And since you all participated so, eh-- _enthusiastically_ , risking life and limb, you’re welcome to come in an hour late tomorrow.”

“Wow, thanks,” Miller says, in a tone so dry it goes straight over Dante’s head.

“Of course, of course. Clarke, it was a pleasure to have you.”

“It was a weekend I’ll never forget,” she says, chipper. Monty chokes on his oatmeal and Miller grins, pounding his back and letting his hand linger only a little.

“I’m sure it is. You’ve got a keeper here, you know. Bellamy is one of our best.”

“Ehh,” she says, turning to Bellamy with a facetious grin. “He’s alright, I guess.”

“Gee, thanks.”

He barely has time to note the decisive glint in her eye before she’s leaning up, brushing her lips against his. It’s nothing like he’d imagined kissing Clarke would be, far briefer, with more witnesses than he’d pictured, but it’s enough to stop his heart to miss a beat.

“I think I’ll keep him,” she tells Dante, leaning backward into the crook of his arm where it rests on the back of her chair. Bellamy swallows and tries to look like kissing Clarke is definitely something he’s done before as he lets his fingers curl around her shoulder and gives his boss a bland smile.

“Good. Well, drive safely.”

“You too.”

She stays like that, tucked under his arm where she can probably feel his heart pounding against his rib cage, throughout the rest of breakfast.

As they all begin to wander out, Clarke catches his sleeve.

“I think I left my phone charger in the cabin.”

“Good thing we didn’t turn the keys in yet. I’ll meet you at the car?”

She bites her lip. “I’m not a hundred percent sure where I left it. Come help me look?”

“Sure.” He tosses their bags in the trunk and follows her back to cabin eight, feeling somehow like he’s the one who’s missing something. She doesn’t look back at him as she carefully unlocks the door, just pushes inside, kicking the snow off her shoes as she goes.

“So where do you think you--”

She captures his words in a deep, exploratory kiss before he can even formulate the rest of the sentence in his mind. His body catches up before his brain does, his lips returning the kiss, his hands clutching her tighter as he lets her press him up against the door. When he finally does put two and two together, he smiles against her, tempering it, bringing his hands up to cup her face so he can give her the thorough, proper kiss he always wanted to.

Warmth becomes heat in a fraction of a second, caution becomes passion, and by the time they’re pulling back to gawk at each other, their faces are flushed. This time not from the cold.

“You didn’t really forget your charger, did you?”

Clarke dissolves into laughter, letting her head drop to his shoulder as relief and joy roll off of her in waves, the mirror image of Bellamy’s own emotion.

“No, not really. We made it all weekend without anybody catching on, I didn’t want to blow it at the last second. And-- I wasn’t sure how that was going to go.”

“Because I have such a good poker face when it comes to anything ever.”

“I was nervous, okay?” She nips at his neck reproachfully. “At least I made a move.”

“I was going to make a move.”

“Mm-hmm.”

“Really, I was. As soon as we got back. I had a plan.”

“Oh yeah?” She pulls back to look at him. “What was your plan?”

He pauses. ”Well, _plan_ might have been overstating it a bit. All I had so far was to make a move when we got home.”

Clarke snorts and kisses him again, letting him catch her and keep her there for a good while.

“Good thing my plan was better than yours.”

Bellamy grins. ”I can’t say I mind it.”

 

**Two years later**

“Remind me again why we’re going to a holiday party in late January?”

“Because Dante wanted to make sure we’d all be there,” Bellamy sighs. “And he asked around, made sure we were all free tonight before he announced it.”

“At least it’s not an entire weekend again. Could be worse.”

“Yeah, don’t bring that up. I don’t want to remind him that was a thing.”

“Good call. If he mentions it, I’ll just act like I don’t speak English.”

“Perfect,” he laughs, holding the door to the building open for her.

Monty and Miller are already there when they arrive, standing in the corner and looking really engaged in conversation every time someone looks like they might approach.

“You’re late,” Miller grumbles when they walk up.

“Not late enough. The party’s still going on.”

“Where’s Jasper?” Clarke asks, stealing a cheese cube off Monty’s plate. They’ve all started hanging out more since the retreat and have become genuine, outside-of-work friends. Suffering really brings people together, apparently.

“He called in sick this afternoon saying his ankle had a ‘flare-up’,” Bellamy says. “Don’t know why I didn’t think of that.”

“At least we’re not in the middle of the woods with no cell reception again,” Miller points out. “Every time I think about that weekend I’m surprised we all survived it. It’s the perfect serial murder setting, and you know I would have been the first one to go.”

“Nah, I bet you’re a faster runner than me,” Clarke teases, stealing a grape from him. He moves his plate away with a scowl.

“Get your own food, mooch.”

“Sharing is caring, Miller.”

“I don’t think our chances of getting killed off are that much lower here,” Monty interrupts before it can devolve further. “It’s like you haven’t even seen Die Hard.”

Bellamy looks over to the corner where Anya and Roan are arm-wrestling, while Dax seems to be plotting murder as Dante talks his ear off. Cage managed to wrangle a couple of the corporate-level managers into coming, which means he won’t be bothering his coworkers for most of the night. All told, everyone Bellamy wants to avoid is occupied interacting with someone else. Clarke’s right. It could be much worse.

“I guess it’s a point in this party’s favor that a Die Hard situation would be making things worse and not better,” he admits, grudging.

Clarke shakes her head and bumps her hip lightly against his, fond and familiar. “That’s the spirit.”

They manage to remain an uninvaded group for longer than Bellamy expected, but it was never going to last forever.

Dante has a bright spark in his eye when he spots Clarke, and she tucks herself more firmly under Bellamy’s arm when it appears he might go in for a hug. His hand instead ends up resting on Bellamy’s shoulder, which, as always, is not as bad as it could have been.

“Clarke, we’re glad to have you with us. And may I say, _happy birthday_.”

“What?” She says, recovering when Monty coughs pointedly into his wine. “Oh. I mean-- thanks. Thank you.”

Dante studies the two of them for a moment and then sighs, the hand on Bellamy’s shoulder squeezing uncomfortably.

“Alright you two. You can drop the act. I’ve figured you out.”

Bellamy stiffens, feeling Clarke do the same.

“I don’t know what you mean, sir.”

“Oh, you think you’re so slick. But it’s obvious.” He pauses, eyebrows raised as if waiting for a confession. When none comes, he spells it out for them. “Today isn’t Clarke’s birthday. You were just looking for a reason to get out of those boring and pointless HR seminars. Am I right?”

Clarke’s laugh is entirely fake, but the underlying ebb of tension is real. “I guess the jig is up.”

“You caught us,” Bellamy agrees, clenching his jaw against the laughter bubbling up there. “Can’t get anything past you, sir.”

“I play the long game,” Dante says, tapping his forehead knowingly. “I always uncover the truth eventually.”

Just then, Roan and Anya’s arm wrestling escalates into what looks like some sort of MMA-style wrestling, knocking over the catering table and spilling punch at the corporate managers’ feet.

“Oh dear.” Dante goes white. “If you’ll excuse me.”

Clarke waits until he’s out of earshot, then sags against Bellamy’s side. “That was a close one.”

“I bet we’re safe now, though. If he thinks he already figured out the birthday thing, he’ll never guess there was more to the lie, much less the whole fake-dating thing.”

“Wait a second,” Monty says, indignant. “You guys aren’t really dating?”

“They are _now_.” Miller looks so smug that Clarke steals another grape. “Technically we got together before they did.”

“Like ten hours before,” Bellamy qualifies.

“Facts are facts.” He grins at his boyfriend. “Seriously, babe. How’d you miss that story?”

“I blame Jasper.” Monty glowers into his next sip. “I always blame Jasper.”

“Should we give them a hand?” Clarke interrupts, nodding to where Cage is frantically trying to pat down a very uncomfortable group of his superiors while Dante singlehandedly attempts to separate Roan, Anya, and Dax, who had, at some point, jumped into the fray.

“Huh,” Bellamy says, as detached as if he were watching one of those Vines his sister likes to send him that he doesn’t quite get. “On the one hand, I see your point. On the other--”

“I’m kind of hoping this will teach Dante his lesson,” Monty says, as the tablecloth begins to go up in flames.

“Quit having work events while he’s ahead?” Miller guesses.

“Exactly.”

“Alright,” Clarke says, then goes over to the wall and pulls the fire alarm. The sprinklers in the ceiling startle the WWE-wannabes apart long enough for Dante to get between them, freeze Cage in his tracks, and begin dousing the fire that had so far gone mostly unnoticed.

“Nice, now we get to make our getaway,” Miller says, grabbing Monty’s hand and towing him toward the stairwell.

“The night is still young. Any ideas what we should do with it?”

“Anything is better than this.”

And, well--

Call him sappy, but as Bellamy takes Clarke’s hand, he has to disagree.

The party may have been a disaster, but this right here isn’t so bad at all.


End file.
